The Greasy Bag

by Eva M. Kea

There used to be an exclusive men’s clothing store called Erve Graumet’s (I’m sure I’m probably spelling that wrong). Once I found myself shopping at Graumet’s for a very special gift. Actually, I just wandered into the store never dreaming that I would make a purchase. I had passed the store numerous times on previous shopping trips; but had never gone in. The store screamed “expensive!” as soon as you crossed the threshold. I went in just to see the latest men’s fashions, intending to leave and make a similar purchase at a less expensive establishment. 

When I walked in and started looking around, a very pleasant salesman approached me, asking to be of assistance. When I explained that my budget was limited, he made me feel that I was still an important customer to him and my finances (or lack thereof) were of little concern.

The salesman took me around the store suggesting several gifts within my price range. He displayed the fronts of items, the backs of items. He turned things inside out and pointed out stitching. He called my attention to details in patterns. He set several items side by side and compared workmanship and color quality. The customer servicing I received that day was almost overwhelming!

I was not rushed and did not feel in any way coerced into buying something I could not afford. To my surprise, I actually made a purchase. The gift recipient was pleased and surprised when he saw where his gift was purchased.

When the next gift giving occasion came around, I remembered the gracious customer service I received from my salesman (yes, MY salesman) and returned to Graumet’s. As time passed, I found myself returning to make other purchases, sometimes big-ticket items, sometimes small trinkets. But each time I would make sure to find My Salesman to buy the gift.

I even remember waiting a couple of times while he serviced other customers. I wanted to make sure he received his commission and besides, I enjoyed the special treatment he gave me. True to form, My Salesman always made me feel like the center of his universe while I was in the store. He made me feel that my satisfaction was his purpose for living.

I was not used to the amount of respect and tolerance I was getting from this middle-aged white male. After all, I was black, very young and as I already explained, my funds were limited. So, one day, as politically correctly as I could, I asked My Salesman why he gave me such good service and this is the story he told me:

He had always worked in men’s clothing. When he was young and just getting started, he worked at a high-end men’s store in downtown Detroit. This store catered to automotive executives and other highly paid business people. They were quite snobbish. Salesmen have a ‘pecking order’, as it were, and customers are sized up when they enter the store. My Salesman being the most junior associate usually got the customers that more senior salesmen didn’t want.

One day a man came into the store wearing a hard hat and work clothes. The man was filthy! His clothes were covered with dirt and grease and he was carrying his greasy, dirty lunch bag. His work boots were covered with grime and everywhere he walked in the store, he left a trail behind him. And, of course, there was body odor. My Salesman was given the signal that this was his customer. Figuring someone so dirty at least had a job, My Salesman resigned himself to servicing the man.

Not wanting Filthy Guy to get any of the inventory dirty, My Salesman personally handled all the items Filthy Guy wanted to see. He made a point of displaying the clothing in great detail so Filthy Guy wouldn’t have any reason to touch anything.

After spending a great deal of his time with Filthy Guy, My Salesman calculated the bill’s total to be more than $2000. Other associates in the store all had smirks on their faces believing Filthy Guy would never be able to pay such an exorbitant amount. At that time, $2000 was a jaw dropping amount of money.

Filthy Guy opened his dirty, greasy lunch bag and pulled out a huge wad of money. He counted out the full amount of the purchase and put the rest back in the bag. Filthy Guy apologized for his hygiene but applauded My Salesman for his professionalism and for giving such an undesirable customer excellent customer service. Filthy Guy promised to return the next day, showered and clean to try on his purchases and have them altered.

My Salesman said the others were livid. Not only had they missed the opportunity to cultivate a “cash cow” customer. But, with this one transaction, My Salesman surpassed everyone else in commissions for that month. He said that as time went on, he noticed the more he handled his customers the way he had handled Filthy Guy, the more pleased they seemed to be and the more commission he made.

So, he made up his mind that he didn’t care about race, age, gender or seeming wealth of the customer. From that point on, he visualized every person who walked into the store carrying a greasy bag full of money.

There’s a valuable lesson in there somewhere.